Midwinter Luck
by Dark Rose of Heaven
Summary: Some KW fluff. After the war, Dom finds Kel at the door to her room. Attempting a kiss to wish her Midwinter luck, he finds that somebody already has.


**Just a bit of KW fluff, because I feel like it :). A Marriage of Convenience is almost done, and another little vignette piece, Strangers When We Meet, will be posted shortly. For now, enjoy, and feel free to review! :) DR**

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><p><strong>Midwinter Luck<strong>

Later, he would blame it on the wine. He didn't drink much, not since Vivienne had died; he feared losing himself to the dangerous drink. But tonight was special. It was the first Midwinter Night when the Scanran War wasn't a dark, oppressive shadow that clung to every candle, every jewel, every rustle of expensive silk and velvet. And what was the harm of a glass or two? Padraig's pages were making an excellent impression on the guests, courteously offering wine and refreshments to those not dancing. He rarely danced. Instead, he nursed a glass in a safe corner of the ballroom, away from prying eyes.

She joined him, of course. Even though he expected it, a lingering fear had remained. A fear that tonight would be the first in the entire week that she would not come. But the lady knight was hardly one for balls, and she usually only lasted halfway through the night before seeking him out.

They had formed a kind of ritual. Without words they watched the dancing, drinking from their crystal goblets and letting the revelry pass them by in the safety of the shadows. When they had had enough, they set aside their cups, still without communicating, and departed. The halls were cool and quiet compared to the heat and noise of the ballroom, and both knights relaxed slightly as they left the festivities far behind.

"A game of chess, lady knight?" he suggested as they began to draw abreast of his rooms.

"Yes, thank you," she said, eyes glittering behind her Yamani mask. Long acquaintance had taught him she rarely used it anymore – only when she was trying to hide her emotions. What was she feeling that she felt she had to hide? Firmly, he stifled hope. Now was not the time to make assumptions.

The game was over soon, because he was paying more attention to the way the firelight played upon her face, and the way her long, dark lashes made shadows shaped like feathers across her cheekbones. She scolded him for his inattention, laughing, her generous mouth parted to reveal white teeth against a red tongue.

"If you will allow me to redeem myself?"

"Of course, my lord. I'll play black this time."

Agreeably they rotated the board, setting up the pieces again. Her hands fascinated him. Where callouses didn't reach, the lightly freckled skin was interrupted with thin white scars, or the fat, pink ones that were more recent. He wondered what it would be like to kiss each mark. He wondered what other scars hid beneath the fine dove-gray gown she wore, if there were any that ached in the bitter cold, if there were any that stretched across places that only a lover would see.

This time he played more like himself, and the game stretched on past the midnight hour. Owen and Margarry came to bid them goodnight before retiring to their own rooms. After that they were left alone. Half a candle past midnight, he reluctantly moved his queen into the square that would checkmate her. Stifling a yawn behind one scarred hand, she sat back with a smile.

"Well-fought, lady knight."

"Thank you, sir, but I'm so tired I'm surprised I lasted this long."

Doubt rose, but he squashed that, too. "Let me escort you back to your rooms. We can't have you falling asleep on the way there."

"It's not that far," she protested, laughing, but took his arm.

The short walk was pleasantly quiet. They had talked over the game, but neither were prone to much chatter. He liked that. Vivienne had always felt the need to fill the silence, often with meaningless prattle. Her door came all too soon, he felt.

"It's the longest night of the year," she mused suddenly. "What are you going to do with your extra time, my lord?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I believe I spent it trouncing you at chess."

A peal of laughter. It seemed to cut him open, leaving him bare and exposed. Suddenly overcome with a rush of adrenaline – or maybe something even fiercer, more primal – he stepped closer, so that the toes of his boots brushed her skirts. She looked up at him, the laughter in her eyes softening to something else. With hands that seemed to tingle with anticipation, he wrapped his fingers around her upper arms, feeling the hard muscle beneath silvery muslin. Those dreamer's eyes darkened, the falling lashes thick and full as he descended and pressed his mouth against hers.

She tasted like cider, mixed with the salty sweetness of the macaroons she had nibbled during their game. He had meant to pull away, whisper "Midwinter luck," and leave, but it had become impossible. Her lips parted willingly under his gentle pressure, and suddenly the taste of her flooded his mouth as their tongues slid easily side-by-side. Belatedly, he realized that she was fetched up against the door, her hands tangled in the voluminous cloth of his sleeves as their bodies pushed closer. The thin muslin felt almost absent. Every muscle, every curve, pressed through the fabric to burn the geography of her body into his.

Footsteps around the corner dragged them apart. Her eyes were over-bright, her cheeks stained with a wash of pink, her mouth plump and reddened from use. With a great force of will, he stepped away and bowed, brushing his lips over her knuckles briefly.

"Good night, Keladry," he said shortly, roughly. Then, softer, "Midwinter luck." Tearing himself away from those heavy eyes, he turned and walked briskly down the hall. Just around the corner he paused, waiting.

"Hello, Kel. Going to bed?"

A faint cough as she cleared her throat. He could hear the huskiness in her voice as she replied, "Hello, Dom. Yes, I'm off to bed. What about you?"

"Oh, eventually." His eyes narrowed. The boy sounded too innocent. With near-silent movements, he edged to the corner of the wall and peered around it just in time to see Kel turn her face away from the sergeant's sloppy attempt at a kiss. The boy stopped just short of her cheek and pulled away, ruddy with embarrassment.

"I was going to wish you Midwinter luck," he muttered, staring at his boots. She patted him on the arm.

"Thank you, Dom. I really do appreciate it. It's just…" She smiled a small, secret smile, and he felt his heart swell as she explained, "Somebody already has. Goodnight, Dom." With that gentle, but firm, rebuttal, she unlocked her door and left the boy standing awkwardly in the hall.

He decided he'd seen enough. He'd staked his claim. Even if it was just for tonight, Keladry of Mindelan, Lady Knight, belonged to him. With a tiny smile deepening the corners of his mouth, Lord Wyldon of Cavall made his way back to his rooms, trying very hard not to whistle as he went.


End file.
